Travel Temptations

We are at this moment sitting in the airport of Quebec City waiting for our flight home. Seems like a good time for a short post.

Twelve days in Nova Scotia,  Prince Edward Island and Quebec. Ten days on a small cruise ship. It's hard not to notice that most people on vacation do things we might not do otherwise. We eat more, including desserts -- myself included. We might dress differently -- I bought a pair of flannel trousers (pyjama pants?) in the plaid of the Nova Scotia tartan and wore them proudly. And many travelers drink a great deal of alcohol at all times of the day.

Bloody Marys and Mimosas in the morning, beer and wine with lunch, several "whatevers" during cocktail hour, wine with dinner,  and a nightcap before retiring. I noticed one couple who always -- always -- had drinks in their hands. After a couple of days I grew irritated every time I heard the announcement "The bar is (still) open." Then I just let it go...

I'm grateful that there were plenty of things to drink that aren't alcoholic. I'm grateful that the bartender quickly learned and remembered my preferances. And I'm grateful for the evening that I chatted with the two members of the band and discovered that they, too, are members of the same 12-step program.

It was a lovely vacation, I never had to nurse a hangover, and I remember it all.

Imprisoned

During this morning's 12-Step meeting we read a story in the magazine called "Grapevine" written by a young woman whose childhood was so filled with violence and turmoil that she was certain she would end up in the women's prison that was near her home. Instead, having participated in a residential rehabilitation program and entered a 12-Step program, she found herself bringing 12-Step meetings to the women who were incarcerated in that prison.

After we read the story, we shared our thoughts about what it meant to be imprisoned. A few members of the group had spent a night in jail on one or more occasions -- usually arrested for "driving under the influence" and in one instance for public drunkenness. One member had served time in prison. These people, now sober, smiling and with cups of coffee in their hands, aren't any different from you me. In fact there, but for the grace of God, go I. There was at least one occasion when my Mini-Cooper must have driven itself to the coffee shop where I was meeting someone for lunch -- and parked itself as well -- because I don't even remember getting behind the wheel.

Mostly we talked about other kinds of imprisonment -- the kinds that are of our own making. Naturally, we talked about being imprisoned by alcohol or drugs, and after the meeting one man made a humorous comment about wanting to be set free, but "not being able to walk past the bars." We talked about the prisons of fear, of self-pity and of self-image. It's almost impossible to be spontaneous, or to be "happy, joyous and free," if you're locked into a certain view of the world, or of yourself. I thought of many other ways we can be imprisoned. The prisons of depression or anxiety can keep us from enjoying even life's simple daily gifts. The prison of isolation keeps us from seeking out, and gaining consolation and strength from, contact with other human beings. The prisons of too much dependence -- or too much independence -- forces us out of the natural balance between trusting others and relying upon our own skills. The prison of lethargy or laziness -- due to whatever cause -- prevents us from the joy of accomplishment.

In recent weeks I have felt imprisoned -- by pain and by fear. One morning I woke up and something was wrong with my left hip. The range of motion of my right side was seriously limited, I couldn't stand up or lie down fully straightened, and I couldn't walk without limping. The pain was severe when I moved, and still there -- constant and relentless -- even when I didn't. I could only fall sleep in the fetal position, lying on my opposite side, and if I moved in my sleep I immediately woke up.

After manipulating my leg in a series of excruciating movements, the doctor said, "Yes, it's a hip problem," gave me a prescription for pain medicine and sent me for an x-ray. The x-ray showed nothing unusual, so he sent me for an MRI. In the meantime my natural tendency towards anxiety about any health issue kicked in. (The psychological term for this is "catastrophizing.") I was afraid this would be permanent. I would never be able to ride my bicycle or work in the garden ever again! I would become a "couch potato" and gain weight!! I would become a tiresome invalid who would bore my poor husband with my inactivity and complaints..... In addition to all of this self-pity, I resented and feared each pain pill that I took. I would have to take them for the rest of my life. I would become addicted to them! I would have to take more and more of them!! Then they wouldn't help any more and I would have to suffer through agonizing withdrawal..... Despite my prayers for patience and friends' advice that "this too shall pass," I was (borrowing a phrase from current slang) a "hot mess." I was well and truly imprisoned, even more by my thoughts than by my physical state.

The end of the story was predictable. I want back to see the doctor. The MRI showed degenerated cartilage, inflammation, and fluid accumulation around the hip joint. The osteoarthritis that I inherited from my mother was up to its usual nasty tricks. The doctor withdrew about 1/2 cup of fluid from around the joint, and pumped in three shots of cortisone. Removal of the fluid, and the pressure that it put on the nerve, resulted in some immediate relief. The cortisone will do its work in 3-5 days. I'll be able to stop taking the pain medicine. We don't know what caused this to flare up, and it may happen again someday, but for now my mind is at peace. I take a deep breath and say a prayer of gratitude. The door of my prison has been opened, and I'm free!